


Akallabêth

by Umikidaughter



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Númenor, Possessive Behavior, dissociative ignorance, not-so-foreshadowing, sorta reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umikidaughter/pseuds/Umikidaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her earliest memories were of Embers and Silver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Akallabêth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simaetha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simaetha/gifts).



> I was inspired to write this for my new fandom of Sauron/Celebrimbor pairing after seeing the post on Tumblr: http : / / magpiescholar . tumblr . com / post / 138432131207 / i - dont - normally - believe - in - elves - getting - reborn

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Her earliest memories were of Embers and Silver.  

Of an old man, too old to be her father, picking her up and placing her within distance of what she knew now to be a forge; its warmth sheltering her from the coldness of the outside world. Hammers falling, metal ringing in the cavernous home of magic wrought from fire, stone, and water. Whispers to a god of smiths not of the One. The comforting feel of a worn tool, long loved for its faithful purpose.

She remembered the Ashes and Steel as she was dragged away from his headless burning corpse, denounced a traitor and dissident.

Originally, she was told much later, she was to be given to the Temple to sate the One’s thirst. However, one of the men escorting her had seen a fire in her that he knew well from his brother and bide her into service as an apprentice smith; crafter of finery and ceremonial tools to the Temple. Her teachers praised her talent even after they found out she was a girl and soon she was rising the ranks to the highest apprentice, her works becoming refined and beautiful. She would have been content with a simple life in the smithy surrounded by Coal and Gold.

But as was tradition she offered her first work during her Apprentice Trials to the Temple, changing her fate.

She was but seven then when she approached the altar and placed the fine pendent on its blood-soaked stone. As she had turned to leave a manacle shaped like a hand had wrenched her back into Pyres and Iron.

It was his eyes, wild eyes of the burning sun, that drew her in that fleeting moment. Her breath left her body. Her heart stuttered. Tears formed in her eyes as a _longing_ overcame her and she keened, “ _Annatar…_ ” to the agitated High Priest.

He took her into his House that day, had her bathed and clothed in blues and silvers with finery of flowers, and informed that from now on the he, Tar-Mairon, was forevermore her Lord and Master.

She had mourned the end of her simple life for but a few moments before embracing her new one as a fish to the sea. She never looked back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~

 “Lômiinzil come now, Tar-Mairon will arrive soon and he awaits no one.” Her keeper tutted as finery and beautiful robes replaced her forge-stained ashy apron and leggings.

Dinner would be soon and Lômiinzil knew better than to make her Master wait for his substance.

She had only just seated herself when the great doors opened to reveal him in all his glory. He graced her with a fallacious smile as she bowed to him. “My silver gem, how your presence light up my days.” His eyes light up upon the Eye born onto her neck and the spears that encircled her collar delicately.

Reaching her he traced the piece lazily, predatorily. “Lômiinzil is this your newest work? It is exquisite.”

Lômiinzil smiled beautifully at her Lord’s praise. “I took inspiration from you Master. I had hoped you would approve my usage.” Sharp teeth glinted upon her as his hand ghosted over the spears resting above her heart. The sensation of his divine warmth reaching her budding sign of womanhood birthed pleasant shudders down her body.

Tar-Mairon bide her to seat herself as he took his place at the head of the table. She did so gladly. As was their way they conversed over the goings of the capital. Of her work in the forges crafting both swords and finery, and of her teachings as a raised noblewoman whilst he of his work in the Temple and advising the King as he saw to the ruling of Numeanor and its colonies. Conversations of politics and faith, weighing the advantages of specific trade goods, and more lighthearted subjects flowed between them happily.

Lômiinzil, seeing her Master in such a good mode, decided to breach the subject that had been hanging over her for some time. “Master, if I may? There is something I need your wise council upon.” Curious Tar-Mairon bide her to speak. “These past days I heard mummers talk that the House of Lamps had shown a desire to ask for my betrothal. I had thought such as not but gossip till this very evening when a messenger bearing their crest delivered an espousal request to your Steward. Would such a union be a good match for me?”

The flames within the fireplace roared to life as the fine glass goblet in his hand shattered, washing himself in dark blood wine. Tar-Mairon showed not a care as he slammed his hands onto the table, leaving great fractures in its stonework, and rose in fury. Fire, pure as that woven from the earth and sun, writhed in his eyes.

“Go to your quarters. You will remain there until I bide you leave and not a moment before.” He hissed, an animalistic snarl adorning his holy façade.

Lômiinzil shrunk into her chair, terrified. “M-Master-“

“ ** _LEAVE!_** ” The chamber shook with her Lord’s might. Lômiinzil fled.

It would only be after she was released three days later that she learned all within the House of Lamps had been given to the One by her Master’s own hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lômiinzil realized very early into her ‘adoption’ that she had the attentions of the Dream Eater.

Dream Eater was among the more grey of the False Ones; he both grew dreams and ate them but he did not choose the sleeper, his garden was a realm untouched by mortals bearing that their fëa were the seeds of his labors. The only true sign of his attentions was when you woke up and remembered the dreams long after you awoke. This was dangerous in its own way, as the tales of dream seers warned.

But in all the tales, no matter if they were flowers and honey or drowning under ice, Dream Eater only ever took care of his dreamers. Like a Father guiding his child.

For that reason Lômiinzil accepted his affections even though it was a betrayal to the One.

There were horrible times. A family of fire and night and gems. Leaving behind smiles and magic for a land of blood and war and tragedy at every turn. Death and a curse.

She saw happier times, after the war had died with the Shadow. A land building around her, a longing for one with shining light and gold, and the smithy with her forging within it; but the being was not Lômiinzil. No, by his ears he would have been an elf! Yet his face, his unrelenting focus on the craft, and the song of hammer on steel and silver were the same.  

And in each of these happier memories was a blurred man whom not-Lômiinzil would brighten with love and adoration to.

At first Lômiinzil was content. Dream Eater was known to create such elaborate dreams, the more vivid and elaborate the greater substance he received for his attentions. She was never harmed by them.

But then the figure would clarify, his familiar features chiseled beauty only the One could have crafted. And with every dream his face would become clearer, as did the shadowed tortures. She began to fear.

Then came the night when everything changed.

Not-Lômiinzil, chained and bloodied and branded with names she knew by heart yet had never heard, prepared to pass on. She watched as his soul fade away, of his lover and murderer shaking him, furious words and harsh slaps baring no reward.

Not once had not-Lômiinzil looked at him in hatred. Only love and sadness.

He roared a broken furious howl to the heavens _**"Telperinquar**_ ** _!!”_** and turned to face her.

Lômiinzil **_screamed._**

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*

Lômiinzil’s screams had pierced all corners of the manor.

Her Lord arrived within moments, she was told, his divine nature granting him beyond mortal speed. Barging into her quarters as a thunderous storm her Master had barely the time to stop the dream-ensnared woman-child from throwing herself from her high window; saving her from a deathly plummet.

His blessed power woke her that night, dragging her away from the hands of the Dream Eater.

With but a word he had forced her to calm, watching her with blazing eyes. Uncaring of the impropriety she had clung to him and wailed into his strong chest, begging him for the dreams to not be true. And amidst the crying and sobs her Master discerned what the Dream Eater had forced Lômiinzil to dream.

His worth was terrible in its might and beauty, for all that he remained the calm before the storm. He promised her everything would be well, his ring a scorching heat against her cheek. She believed him with all her heart.

Bars were placed in her windows to protect her from another of the Dream Eater’s attempts. Guards were ordered to restrain her if she showed any signs of leaving without an escort or Tar-Mairon’s express permission. Her Master had replaced all her servants with hooded and cloaked figures that left the air cold and heartless, never speaking to her. She could only work at her personal forge now, and only if her Master was there with her to oversee her work. He had done so before, watching her work the bellows and smash the hammer and chisel he had crafted specially for her, always with a light in his eyes that she could not name. But now that light was gone, replaced by the screams and fires and smoke of the One.

The days had slowly begun to blur together. Her home losing its shine and becoming darker. 

Her life was now that of a wraith haunting its tomb.

Then one day she swallowed fear ‘ _When had I become afraid?’_ and begged Tar-Mairon to let her back into the city, visit the Temple smithy and her fellow workers, and breathe the fresh sea air of the coasts. Her beloved Master had watched her, silent, for an immeasurable amount of time. There was a shadow in his eyes, one she had seen only once before.

The Whispers awoke then, telling her to leave, hide, do anything that took his attention off of her.

Suddenly, Tar-Mairon cupped her cheeks and leaned close. “My silver bird, I have only ever wished for your protection and happiness. Spending all these years with you at my side, your smiles and vigor for life, has brought not but joy to my heart.” His thumb stroked her cheek fondly. Pink dusted her cheeks, her eyes glazing. His own narrowed darkly before encircling her in his arms, drawing her closer. He had taken to such an action as of late.

“And that is why I will not allow the False Ones to take you Lômiinzil, to cast your fëa into their farce of peace and light. Theirs’ is a world that bares growth, hiding their ugliness behind a holy façade, and tears loved ones apart because of their poison.” Tar-Mairon’s voice was velvety in its deepness but the lint of crimson and black within it was of the pyres and daggers of the Temple. The grasp tightened, threatening to cease her breathing, but never just enough.

“Lômiinzil, you must never listen to the False Ones and their Faithful. They would take you away and twist your heart against me, ensnaring you till you would gladly plunge the dagger through my heart for them. Promise me you will not go to them.”

Lômiinzil nodded eagerly. “I will stay with you forever Master.” She swore in pure adoration and love, never doubting his words. She hopelessly squashed the disappointment and tinge of terror bubbling in her heart.

Tar-Mairon smiled his serpents smile, eyes blazing his heavenly fire, before kissing her brow. “Good girl.”

The very next day her Master took to the forge and began teaching her how to work magic into her craft.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On the day of her twentieth year her Master summoned her to the smithy.

Lômiinzil was giddy in anticipation. Both her Master and herself had worked tirelessly to reach this moment, where she would be able to place a piece of her fëa magic into her craft to give it its power. The design her Lord had created had taken years of careful planning and calculations from both teacher and student.

_“Every aspect of the work must be taken into consideration; from the alloy to its shape and magical intent.”_ He had told her when handling molten metal barehanded, folding it into a circlet inset with a fire opal at its center. Her Master had gently placed it upon her dark brow and grinned handsomely. _“So that my Eye will always watch over you.”_ To this day she rarely ever took it off.

Her Lord was already prepared for her. “Come Lômiinzil, we must not delay.”

And so on into the day they worked at the forge. The beat of the hammer, the tink-tink of chisels, the chanting of music and intent. It had all blurred together in Lômiinzil’s mind until that final stroke of soul-wrenching pain as _something_ was pulled from her, mingled with a _presence_ that stabbed through her and filled the gaping wounds with itself until she could no longer tell where she ended and it began.

_It was an agony and horror she could not put into words for words were beyond what she understood had been done._  

Lômiinzil woke days later to her Master watching her sleep. Tar-Mairon lifted her left hand silently and she could only stare in awe.

There, bound delicately on her ring-finger in graceful lines and form, was a ring enclosed in endless eternity circles, fastened of black gold with a heart of silver.

Victorious pride soaked Tar-Mairon’s voice as he declared, “Herein lies an eternal loop, the power to give its wearer the form of inextirpable. I name it Narbí, the Unfading, in the tongue of the One and his servants.” He stroked her ring with a bright reverence, one that struck her familiar. Vaguely, she noted how _exposed_ her Master appeared in the moment; as if a great fear he had weighed for centuries was suddenly lighted.

The furnace of his hand stroked her cheek lovingly before grazing down her neck to her collarbone.

Sharply inhaling Lômiinzil snapped her dazed eyes to Tar-Mairon’s now looming form. “Master?” she breathed, confused and squirming under his blazing eyes and devouring smile.

“Now you will never again leave me my silver flower, **_never will you betray me._** ” A frail light within her quivered in sorrow and terror at his words. She had no presence of mind to give it notice as heat began to curl down her belly. Her breathing grew heavy, her flesh tingled.

“M-Master Tar-Mairon…” she shuddered under his touch. His eyes blazed even brighter.

He drew closer, his body over-shadowing her own, and her world became consumed in the fire.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her earliest memories were of Embers and Silver.

A good man raising her in a forge. The feel of well-loved tools. Music born of fire, stone, and water. The absolute certainty that she was where she belonged.

Lômiinzil shivered in the howling wind, drawing her fur-lined cloak closer.

Far below the Temple, dark forms scuttled about their daily lives under the harsh smog of burning pyres and chants to the One. In the distance she could see, actually _see,_ harbors bustling with activity as shipbuilders moved like a well-oiled machine. Even now she could hear the mummers on the wind of war…

“You should be inside.” Lômiinzil turned to Tar-Mairon, garbed in his raiment as High Priest of the Father of All. There were still splashes of blood on his wrists and fingers.

She turned back, the cold no longer bothering her. “I needed the fresh air my Lord. The smoke upsets my nose these past few days.” Not a lie. It simply wasn’t the only reason she wanted to be outside.

Strong warm hands landed on her furred shoulders, sliding to cage her as his chin rested next to her ear. Foggy breath rose before fading. “If it upsets you so Lômiinzil you will be escorted back to my House. I must remain behind. The King waits for no one.” Amusement and fondness at her tension. “Does that displease you?”

‘ _You would like that wouldn’t you?’_ the Whisper mocked. Lômiinzil pushed it aside with suffering ease. “Of course not my Lord. I simply do not feel well when I am parted from you.” His smile was ever beautiful against her skin, pleased with her. She took comfort in that and closed her eyes. The Whisper dourly turned away, love and bitterness and sorrow mingled into one lonesome creature.

Their hands met, one ring to the next, above her belly. She did not need to see to know her Master’s eyes were glowing with his divine fire, his smile widened to reveal bestial fangs.

Pyres and Iron.

“Oh my dear silver crown, not even Death could keep you away from me. That, I promise you.”


End file.
